


No one but you (only the good die young)

by quiznakeries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 1980's AU, 80's AIDS epidemic, Angst, Character Death, Falling In Love, Getting Together, HIV/AIDS, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, lgbt community, mentions of statutory rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiznakeries/pseuds/quiznakeries
Summary: Stories of an epidemic amongst gay men and drug users spread like wildfire, and Keith soon realized they were just as vicious, just as harmful, as the decease itself. They called it God’s will, killing off the sinners and the unworthy. Crazy people flocked outside gaybars and shelters, plaques and chants at the ready to push in the patrons faces. Some were sure they were immune, because God wouldn’t punish them if they weren’t filthy. Others were afraid, scared to catch the virus brought on my the fags.And Keith, he was scared too.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	No one but you (only the good die young)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Queen’s song with the same name, call it a tribute.
> 
> Please mind the tags, it’s sad o’clock!

**No one but you (only the good die young)**

_ Prompt 7: The death of someone close  _

  
  


When Keith first left home, his mom waved him off at the bus station. It was a dry summer morning, and Keith still remembers the pounding of his heart once the bus engine came to life, and he finally rolled out of Payson, Arizona. 

He’d squeezed into the tiny restroom on that bus to change his clothes, so eager for his new life in Phoenix he couldn’t wait another second. Exchanged the cargo shorts for tight jeans, his t-shirt for a slim fitted black dress shirt he left unbuttoned all the way to his ribs. A thin silver chain clasped around his neck. He put his brand new sunglasses on right there in the bathroom, and didn’t take them off for the entire ride.

It was finally his turn to live, to stop hiding who he was out of fear. In the big city, he could be the man he wanted to be, do all the things he’d dreamed of since forever.

Arriving at his stop, right in the heart of a brand new city, Keith had never felt so alive. He dragged his heavy suitcase along behind him and soaked up the tall buildings, the sounds and smells and  _ people _ . He remembers vividly what it was like, when he first caught sight of a man in a brilliant pink suit strutting down the street like he owned the place. Comfortable, unafraid. 

Keith didn’t even have the patience to stop by his uncle's apartment and drop off his stuff. He was too excited, too burning to find out if what he’d read was true. If the places he’d heard of truly did exist.

It was late afternoon when he dragged his luggage down a flight of stairs, the entrance to the place he was looking for tucked away on a street corner. There were no signs, no flashing lights to tell him he was in the right place. But he felt it, the atmosphere as he pushed the doors open and slipped inside. 

The lights were warm and dim, and the entire place smelled of cigarette smoke. There was no one manning the entrance, just an empty hallway decorated with string lights and artwork unlike anything Keith had ever seen. At the end of it, he could hear the sounds of voices. Music, clinking glasses. The narrow opening at the end of the hall had a rainbow string curtain that rattled when he brushed it out of the way.

At the bar, a pudgy man with round, kind eyes and a handlebar mustache looked up at the new arrival. He waved Keith over, setting an empty glass on the bar.

“Welcome to Phoenix!” The man said with a grin, nodding to Keith’s suitcase. “Straight off the train?”

“Bus, actually.” Keith corrected, awkward and not sure what to say. It’d been a long time since he was a complete stranger to anyone, Mayor’s son and all. “But yeah, pretty much.”

“And you came straight here? Why paint me flattered.” The man snickered, polishing the water stains off a wine glass. “What will it be? On the house.”

Keith looked down at the empty glass, realizing it was meant for him, and drew a blank. Not that he didn’t realize he was in fact in a bar, but he was only eighteen at the time. He had a good five months left before he could drink legally in Arizona. It was a small gap, but growing up as well behaved as he had, the option of accepting a drink threw him for a loop.

“I’m sorry, I’m not- I’m only eig-”

The bartender reached over the bar, a soft and heavy hand settling on Keith’s shoulder and shutting him right up.

“We don’t care much for what your drivers license says down here, sweetheart.” He said, and pulled back to start rummaging under the bar for a bottle of clear liquid and some ice. “Boys like you, they come here for a reason. If it was getting boozy you were after, there are other places for that.”

The man filled up most of the glass with what appeared to be orange juice, and stuck a slice of grapefruit and orange into the glass to top it off. He nudged the glass in Keith’s direction. Keith accepted it, and muttered a soft thanks. He wasn’t sure of what to do with himself.

“You can call me Sal, by the way.” The bartender spoke up again when he caught Keith looking hesitant. “I own this here little slice of heaven.”

Keith looked around the room at Sid’s wide gesture, taking in the fairly small room. The furniture was mostly mismatched rococo, varying types of glossy wood and patterned textiles. On every table stood a collection of candle holders, layers of wax building up on the table surfaces. The walls were draped with heavy, warm colored fabrics. At the far back, in the corner, was a tiny stage. On it stood a single chair and a microphone stand.

He’d imagined Sal’s in his mind many times before, when people at home talked about the queers and the way they had an entire underground community in the big city. He’d listened to every kind of conversation over the years. Classmates cackling about teaching the faggots a lesson by beating them up. Mothers whispering at the grocery store about how they never would have believed their friend to have raised such a child. The occasional kind soul speaking up for the gays rights to live their lives as they pleased. Keith had heard it all, and no one ever knew that what he took with him from those conversations were pieces of a bigger puzzle. Pieces he’d use to map out safe zones for himself to disappear to, once high school was finally over.

But he’d never come close to picturing the truth of Sal’s bar in his fantasy. It was so much better than he ever hoped it would be, and he knew right away, that was where he was supposed to be.

“I’m Keith.” He dared to offer Sal a small smile, and got a big one in response.

“Alright, Keith.” Sal raised a glass of rosy liquid in his direction, and waited for Keith to raise his own in return. “We’re thrilled to have you.”

Keith hid his sheepish smile behind the rim of his glass, and sipped the orange drink that really didn’t taste like much but orange juice. He was good with that, it seemed like a safe enough place to start.

He made some small talk with Sal after that, nursing his drink and looking around the bar. It was too early for most to be out drinking still, just past six pm. The only guests except himself was a little group of men chatting around a table close to the bar, just far enough away for Keith not to overhear their conversation.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but he found at least he was comfortable. Sal seemed nice enough, and he promised to introduce Keith to some regulars if he’d stick around until later.

So, Keith hung around.

And about an hour or so later, the clack of heels and the rattle of the string curtain caught Keith’s attention. He looked over his shoulder, and was both surprised and not at all to see the man he’d passed earlier that day bursting through the door. The guy in the pink suit, with pearly white platform heels and luscious, bright orange locks brushed back. The look was completed with a waxed mustache, bouncing on his upper lip as he struck a pose and called out; “Honey, I’m home!”

Keith jerked in his seat when the guys at the table suddenly went wild, chanting “Coran, Coran, the gorgeous man!” over and over until the man in pink strode over to their table with a skip in his step. The chatter came out much less hushed after the man’s arrival, and Keith couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped him. It was just so extraordinary, seeing a man like Coran enter a room and turn the mood up to double in less than a minute. A man who back in Payson, would be met with nothing but silent stares, if he was lucky.

“Coran, hun, come here a second!” Sal hollered over the sudden noise. The newcomers head whipped over his shoulder, striking another pose as he locked eyes with the bartender.

“Why, you going to show this fine lady a good time?” He batted his eyelashes, humoristic and flirtatious all at once, but made his way over without waiting for an answer. Sal looked over at Keith, and rolled his eyes. Keith snickered. “What do you need Sally?”

“I want you to meet our latest peach, freshly picked and shipped from Gila County!” The bartender getured to Keith, who sat suddenly frozen in his seat. He very much doubted he’d be anywhere near someone this vibrant man would like to add to his circle. He was young and awkward and- “Make him feel welcome, will you? Introduce him to the rest of the cheer squad.”

Coran, if possible, perked up even more where he stood leaning on the corner of the bar, round eyes scanning Keith with sparkly glee. Keith gulped.

“Oh hun aren’t you just a treat?” Coran tilted his head and all but cooed, sliding over to grab Keith by the hand. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you, or these wildcats will gobble you up like a chocolate eclair.”

He looked over at Sal as he was dragged away by Coran to the table of people, wide eyed and nervous. Sal gave him a little wave, and Keith remembers suppressing the urge to vomit.

\---

  
  


That night became the first of countless others, and Sal’s became much like a second home. Coran and his less flamboyant, but just as fun, little group adopted him instantly, made a place for him at every gathering from day one and forward. It was… the most exciting and thrilling time of his life.

The little stage at Sal’s turned out to be for karaoke nights, which Keith wildly protested against partaking in. At first. But on the night of his nineteenth birthday, his new friends finally dragged him on that flimsy plywood thing of a stage. He was drunk, and happy, laughing more than he sang with Coran’s arm slung over his shoulder. The bar was decked out in tacky birthday decorations, and the guys had made a mixtape of his favorite songs that played whenever the karaoke machine wasn’t on. It was ridiculous, and so much fun.

It was also the night that he met Shiro.

One of Keith’s friends, a woman named Allura who hung out with them a few nights a week, had promised to bring by the one guy Keith had yet to meet in their social circle. He went through a bad breakup that summer, just before Keith arrived, and had been completely absent from the bar and all other hangouts since then. And just like with everything else regarding the big city, whatever Keith had built up in his head didn’t come anywhere near the real thing.

It was just when he finished his disastrous number with Coran, and they tumbled off the stage, that Keith spotted Allura slipping out of her coat at the bar. And he saw the man towering behind her. Keith stopped short in his tracks, staring at the tall and broad chunk of beauty appearing before his eyes.

Next to him, Coran snickered into Keith’s hair. 

“My my, I should have known.” the older man chirped. “Itsy bitsy thing like you, of course you’d love a big man.”

Keith felt his cheeks burn hot, mouth falling open as if to protest but with nothing coming out. He just stared at the stranger, traced the line of that chiseled jaw, the swell of his body under the trench coat. The white poof of hair falling in his eyes.

“Don’t you worry, dear.” Coran smirked at him, all too knowing and way too supportive of Keith’s sudden thirst. “He’s one of the good ones. And not just to look at.”

Keith had heard a lot about Shiro in the past few months. How he worked in robotics, and had a prosthetic arm he designed and built almost entirely by himself by the age of twenty six. That he was a workaholic, and that it’d been what brought his six year long relationship to an end. That he lost his arm in a skiing accident in his teens. That he had a cat, and set fire to his kitchen not once but  _ twice  _ in the past year.

Sure. Keith had heard a lot about Shiro. But it did nothing good in terms of preparing him for their first meeting. Keith was a stuttering, flushing mess, completely taken by the man he thought he sort of knew already and had just looked forward to meeting in person. Shiro was so much more than anyone ever could have readied him for. With a honey smooth, deep voice and a toothy smile. Warm grey eyes that crinkled when he laughed. A body big and sturdy enough for Keith to literally climb him like a tree. 

And stars, was that exactly what he wanted to do.

After waking up the morning after his birthday and feeling like he was going to burst into flames from embarrassment thinking back on the first impression he must have made on Shiro, with the fumbling words and broken champagne glass, the awkward, wispy body language and cherry red cheeks - he was truly surprised to find a message from the man himself on his answering machine.

He never spent so much time and effort to make himself look nice before meeting another person in his  _ life _ , as he did that afternoon.

Shiro had invited him out for coffee, and Keith was so nervous he was shaking in his seat where he sat at that café waiting half an hour before they agreed to meet. He tried telling himself that maybe, Shiro wasn’t that handsome, that amazing. He’d been drunk, it was possible his lust-goggles had kicked in.

He tried telling himself. But it didn’t work. 

Which was just as well, because when Shiro arrived, dressed in a leather jacket over a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, Keith felt like his heart might jump right out of his chest.

They had their coffee, and sat for hours at the little bistro table talking. When they eventually started feeling like they’d overstayed their welcome, they took to walking the streets of Phoenix while a late october sun began to set somewhere above and beyond the high rise buildings. They continued walking long past the point where Keith’s feet started to ache, staying close enough on the sidewalk for their hands to brush together every once in a while.

When they arrived outside Keith’s building, it was completely dark and his voice was raw from their constant talking. It was something very new to him, having conversation flowing with another person like that. He would usually be the one who listened, but Shiro asked his opinion on everything. Lured him out of his shell and didn’t let him slip back in for the entire evening. It was downright magical, and when their goodbyes eventually rolled around, the most incredible man in the world dipped down, and placed the softest kiss on Keith’s lips.

\---

  
  


Keith had never dated anyone before. He’d only been in the city for a few months when he met Shiro, and back home there was never any room for boyfriends. Hard to keep a relationship with another boy in a small town. Keith never even bothered trying. And so with Shiro, everything was new. Fingers tangling under tables, lingering kisses whenever the urge would hit. Falling asleep in each other's space, inside jokes. Sharing things he’d never thought he’d want to share.

And most incredible of all, was the constant fuzzy feeling, the warmth and safety of knowing someone cared for him in a way no one had ever done. It made every secret shared, every stupidly domestic act, every touch feel that much  _ more _ .

Keith thought the one thing that would feel familiar would be the sex. He’d done  _ that  _ before. Plenty of times. His first time he was sixteen, horny and stupid in the guestroom with a friend of his mothers. He lived in New York and only came visiting every other year or so, and when he approached Keith with softly spoken words of how he’d grown so beautiful, Keith let it happen. He spent the next year agonizing over the secret coming out, what his mother would do if she found out. But it never happened, and Keith moved on. Then there wasn’t anyone, until he came to Phoenix. His first month in the city, he got a little carried away. Drunk on the sudden possibilities, the opportunities to feel good when he wanted to.

He expected it to be like that with Shiro, too. But the first time Shiro pressed into him, holding his thighs apart and panting into his neck, it was like he’d never been touched before. Every nerve in him sparked and he felt like a living firework, every touch and press and slide reaching him deep, on a level he didn’t know there was. He came apart in Shiro’s hands.

Time moved quickly for them, the months ticking by in what felt like days. Suddenly, Easter was upon them, and Keith carried his old suitcase into Shiro’s apartment. He didn’t have a lot of stuff, and most of whatever he had was already at Shiro’s place, so moving in went easy. Waking up next to Shiro every day was easy.

As Keith’s second summer rolled around, their friend Hunk took over Sal’s hours behind the bar. 

“How’s he doing?” Shiro asked one night, accepting the glass of red he’d asked for. Next to him, Keith sat on a barstool, with Shiro’s prosthetic hand resting at the low of his back.

“Not so good, man, not so good.” Hunk admitted, and there was too much worry in his sweet eyes for Keith to look straight at. They were all worried about their friend, but out of all of them, Hunk and Coran knew him best. 

Keith looked down at the sparkling liquid in his glass, thinking back to when he first met Sal. He was the first person Keith talked to in the city, and had snatched himself a special little nook of space in Keith’s heart over the past year.

“He’s not alone, either.” A new voice cut in, and Shiro and Keith both turned to see Lance walking up to them from the entrance. “I just talked to Nyma, you remember her? Dancer from LA?”

Keith remembered. She was a friend of Lance’s who’d come to visit over New Years with a few other LA people in tow.

“Apparently Rolo’s been sick for a while now. Died this morning.”

“Oh, shit.” Keith looked back at Hunk, and saw him turning pale. He reached out for his friends hand across the bar, and squeezed.

That night, they put a wax candle on the top of the bottle shelf behind the bar, and lit it in memory of Rolo.

No one could have told them that less than a year later, that shelf would be empty of bottles, all pushed to the lower one to make space for every candle they put up there. 

Stories of an epidemic amongst gay men and drug users spread like wildfire, and Keith soon realized they were just as vicious, just as harmful, as the decease itself. They called it God’s will, killing off the sinners and the unworthy. Crazy people flocked outside gaybars and shelters, plaques and chants at the ready to push in the patrons faces. Some were sure they were immune, because God wouldn’t punish them if they weren’t filthy. Others were afraid, scared to catch the virus brought on my the fags.

Keith was scared, too.

The world wasn’t very accepting as it was, before the disease. As a boy who liked boys, Keith figured he struggled enough to pass as worthy of human rights already. Having the world stare at you like you came carrying poisonous snakes in your arms, it didn’t make his anxiety any better. He started having nightmares, worse than he ever had before coming to Phoenix, when he was still hiding who he was back in Payson. Those dreams were awful, and there had been chunks of his life where he wouldn’t sleep for days just in order to avoid them. He’d dream that the town would find out, that it would hurt his mother’s reputation and she’d lose her position as mayor, and resent him for it after. He’d dream he was cornered in the schoolyard and beaten, but no one came to help because they were all  _ watching _ . His fears had made him self isolate a lot. He didn’t have any real friends, and didn’t engage in after school activities. Some thought he was scary, others just called him weird. But all that was better, than risking letting them know the truth.

But the dreams that took shape, in the fall of 1985, were so severe he’d wake up screaming in the night. Shiro held him, rocked him slowly and murmured comforting words against his skin. He called in sick to stay with Keith on days when his anxiety got so bad he couldn’t leave the house.

—-

  
  


The lighthearted, open atmosphere between their friends slowly became something more strained. The nights of closing down the bar together, drinking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company were over. Sal’s became an entirely new kind of meeting point for their community, throwing wakes to make up for the ones their kind weren’t invited to.

When their friend James passed away, Keith attended the funeral together with Coran, Shiro, and a few others. They were the friends who carried the coffin, and the ones who had been there for him to wipe his forehead of sweat in the hospital, held his hand. And yet, they got tucked away at a lone table at the wake like children, and James’s boyfriend’s turn to speak never came. They were annoyed, but it was a  _ funeral _ and they didn’t want to cause a scene. But then, James’s father made his tearful speech, and Keith’s blood ran cold. Mr Griffin spoke about his son like they’d been thick as thieves, even though Keith knew they’d hardly spoken since James came out as gay. He talked about his beloved son, the athlete, the captain of the debate team. And he finished his pour of touched up words, with a plea to their friends and family, to honor his son's memory, by donating to a cancer foundation. Keith jerked so hard in his seat, Shiro put a steady hand on his shoulder to keep him from flying out of his seat and give the stuck up prick a piece of his mind. He was so angry, boiling with the knowledge a man’s family couldn’t - even at his funeral - respect and admit to themselves who their son was.

It turned out to be a regular thing.

Keith attended more funerals in the next year than anyone should ever have to. So many, he became numb with it. The people around him lost their lives like dominos falling, and when Christmas came, he was exhausted from the grief and worry.

Shiro came with him back to Payson over the holidays, and Keith had never been so thankful for his mother being the woman she was. When Keith first started getting serious with Shiro, roughly a year earlier, he’d paid her a visit. He told her everything, minus the part of losing his virginity to one of her closest friends. She’d heard him out, quietly listening to him blabber on through tears and anxious trembles. At the end of it, she stood from her seat, and for a terrible second Keith had thought she was going to leave. But she walked around the table, dragged him up on his feet, and held him. She told him she was sorry, not for him being gay but for not seeing it earlier, for not being there to support him. They stood for a long time, just embracing. And when they parted, she gave him a sad smile, and asked him to tell her more about the man in his life.

“Mom, can we not talk about this?” Keith tried, focusing on cutting the pie evenly while avoiding his mother’s gaze. They’d made it through all of Christmas Eve, and all the way to the end of dinner Christmas Day, without his mother bringing it up. 

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t get tested, is all.” His mom kept going, and he could feel her insistent, all too intense eyes drilling holes into the side of his skull. 

“I don’t have any symptoms!” He raised his voice, smothering the urge to turn and wave the knife in her direction. He just hoped Shiro was too busy playing with Kosmo in the living room to hear them. “I’m not sick. Would you please give it a rest?”

For a few moments, it seemed like that was enough. Krolia went back to loading the dishwasher, and Keith began to plate the dessert in silence. 

“I read that they’ve found the virus in people who seem perfectly healthy. It can be dormant, Keith, and if you’re a carrier you need to-“

A plate broke pieces on the stone tile floor with a crash, splattering Keith’s feet with whipped cream and bits of caramel pecans. His mother stopped talking, and Keith heaved a deep breath before getting to work on cleaning up the mess. He picked up the biggest shards of porcelain, and folded them into a napkin. Or he tried to, but his hands shook so bad he had a hard time just getting a grip on the razor sharp pieces without cutting himself.

His mother crouched in front of him to help, taking the napkin from him and starting to gather up the broken plate. 

“Keith…”

Something snapped in him then, and he shot up to his full height and screamed so hard he hurt. 

“What is so hard to understand? I don’t want to talk about this!”

He turned on his heel to leave, but a hand sticky with caramel caught him by his wrist and spun him around. Krolia grabbed him by the head, pinning him with eyes nearly exactly like his. She looked pained, and Keith was lost for words.

“No Keith.” She said, voice faint. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

Keith stared back at her, jaw locked shut as something he’d refused to think about in a long while came crashing over him like a bucket of cold water.

“We already lost your father.” His mother continued, and Keith hated how she sounded so delicate. When she grabbed him, an ancient part of him had expected her to yell, because before his father died, he and his mother were the most alike with flaring tempers. But after he passed, it was like Krolia adopted his calm. She never raised her voice again, never snapped at Keith or got so upset her ears flamed red. Keith always figured, it was only partially for his sake. He thought it was probably also a coping mechanism. His dad was her rock, and the one to bring her down when she lost her temper. He was the rational one, and without him, she didn’t have anyone to bring her back to earth if she went crazy for a little while.

So when his mom continued, and said; “I can’t risk to lose you too.”, he understood it better than she probably knew.

\---

  
  


Walking into that clinic to get tested would become one of the most haunting things he’d ever experience. Even with Shiro holding his hand, and going through the same, he felt like the long hall of pale green walls with it’s sterile smell was closing in on him before they even made it from the waiting room to the examination room. Every second they spent there, every person that saw them, Keith felt it on his body like someone slapped a bright yellow sticker reading  _ infection _ , or  _ guilt  _ on him. The nurse taking their blood hardly looked them in the eye, yanked Keith’s arm instead of reaching for it when it was his turn with the needle. 

It was like they weren’t even people, and nothing Shiro had to say that night made Keith feel any better.

The weeks that followed were like walking through fog. He and Shiro went to visit the hospital a few times a week, and it felt like they might as well set up camp there at that point, they spent so much time there.

With so many sick, an entire wing had been set aside for what felt like a perverse parody of a college dorm. They came and went, door to door to stop by everyone they knew. And every now and then, a stranger would lie in the bed where they last saw a friend. It happened once, that Keith saw two people in robes and masks roll off with a gurney, on which was a figure wrapped in black plastic secured with warning tape.  _ Infectious tissue _ . He’d gone to the bathroom to vomit, while Shiro held his hair back and tried to soothe him.

Keith tried to make it clear to Shiro he was allowed to break down as well, that he didn’t have to look after Keith and stay so damn strong all the time. But Shiro only shushed him, kissed him gently, and promised that having Keith around was enough.

Seven days since they were tested, Keith was trying really hard not to think about it.

“Don’t look so sad, doll, you’re the only pretty thing I’ve got to look at in here.” 

Keith raised the little brush in his hand, looking up at the man with the vibrant orange hair that was quickly starting to fall out lately. The smell of nail polish was something Keith had learned to associate with the older man, from so many occasions sitting in his tacky living room drinking wine and watching Coran paint his toenails the color of the week.

Now, he needed Keith’s help if he wanted to keep waking up to see his sparkling toes smiling back at him in the morning.

At least that’s how he phrased it.

“Won’t be for long, I’m almost done here.” Keith wiggled the brush in Coran’s direction, a drop of vibrant turquoise falling onto his friends white hospital sheet. Coran started to laugh, but it turned into a cough and Keith just wanted to sink through the floor. He was so tired of watching it, his friends fading away and disappearing. He was so indescribably exhausted with feeling grief and worry and guilt and shame.

He just wanted it all to be over.

After roughly two weeks, Shiro’s results arrived in the mail before Keith’s did. And he refused to open it.

“We’ll look at them both together, when yours comes.” Shiro insisted, giving up on the crossword puzzle he’d been trying to solve through Keith’s anxious blabbering. He set the newspaper on the coffee table. “I know you’re nervous, but a few more days won’t make any difference, baby.”

Keith scowled at Shiro, but couldn’t argue. Instead he went back to watching Mad Max 2 for the third time since he rented it. It was distracting enough, at first, but by the third run he knew the movie too well to let it take his mind off things.

Next to him, Shiro scooted closer, and Keith fell into his warmth.

“It’ll be alright.” Shiro murmured into Keith’s hair, placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. Keith wrapped his arms tight around Shiro’s middle, and breathed him in. He was big, solid, and warm. A living manifestation of safety, and home. “You and me, baby. We got this.”

\---

  
  


Wednesday, the first week in February 1986, Keith came home to an empty apartment. It wasn’t a surprise, Shiro had marked the calendar months ago, had reminded Keith of his company dinner that morning when he woke him up. Still, it was unusual for Keith to come home and not find Shiro there, sitting on the couch or in his office. He got off work two hours before Keith did, so he was almost always home when Keith left his job.

He turned the light on, a warm glow filling the narrow hallway. He bent to pick up the pile of mail sitting on the carpet, and pulled the door closed behind him. He pretended not to feel the way his heart began to pound because it was ridiculous to get stressed out just from picking up the god damned mail.

He kicked off his shoes, hung his coat. Dropped the mail on the kitchen counter without looking at it, and promptly pretended it wasn’t there while he heated some leftovers for dinner.

It took him about twenty minutes to give in to the rising anxiety and sort through the pile. It was mostly trash, useless flyers he’d never bother to read and crappy coupons. Then there was a notice on the gas bill he forgot to pay, the monthly newsletter from Shiro’s company, and a white envelope, with his and the clinic's name on it. Keith stared at it, breaths turning heavier by the second. The perfectly normal looking envelope seemed to burn the skin of his fingers, like it was filled with poison. With bad news. But he couldn’t open it, he knew he should wait until Shiro got back. So they could check together, like they said.

But Keith couldn’t bear it, the thought of sitting alone at home with the answers right there before him, for hours. He just couldn’t do it.

But afterwards, with the matching papers side by side with their ripped envelopes in pieces on the floor, Keith really wished he would have.

Shiro came home two hours later, and found their home in total disarray. The coffee table was turned over in the middle of the living room, papers and throw pillows scattered around it. A painting had crashed to the floor and shattered, so all over the room the floor glittered with shards of glass. He dropped everything, but started really freaking out when he noticed the trail of blood drops leading from the broken frame and down the hall.

He found Keith curled up on the bathroom floor, one hand covered in blood from the cut on his finger. When he saw Shiro, the pain in him turned up tenfold, but he couldn’t get it out. All he had left was tears, after screaming his voice raw. He couldn’t even stand up, anymore. 

Shiro whispered his name, and fell to the floor to embrace him. Keith tried to push him off, but his arms were so weak, Shiro must’ve hardly felt it. So he let himself be pulled into Shiro’s lap, caged in between his boyfriend and the linoleum wall. He was trembling, shaking with the sobs that tore at him because  _ everything fucking hurt _ .

Shiro didn’t need to ask what was wrong, he’d seen what the papers on the floor were, understood that Keith had been too antsy to wait.

“Baby it’s okay.” Shiro said after a while, rubbing Keith’s neck with his flesh hand and holding him. Keith jolted with the new stab of pain, because his love was so sweet, and so fucking stupid.

“How is this okay, Shiro?” He managed, voice rough and torn from tears and screaming. He pulled back in Shiro’s arms, trying to get out of his arms but Shiro held him steady. “You can’t say things are okay when they’re not fucking okay!”

“Keith,  _ Keith  _ look at me.” Shiro cut into his craze, always so smooth and steady. Keith felt his breath catch in his throat, and he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t look Shiro in the eye, not anymore. But Shiro wouldn’t have it, and when he realized Keith wasn’t going to do as he was told, tilted Keith’s head up with a soft grip on his chin.

Shiro’s eyes were glossy, but certain. So incredibly brave and beautiful Keith didn’t know what to do with himself, he was already in as much tears as he could ever be. It hurt so much to see them, to see this perfect man look at him with so much love and devotion and support, when Keith was the one to blame.

“I’m so sorry.” Fell from his lips before he could process the words, and once they were out they kept coming. Over and over again, through hiccups and sobs and angry sniffs, he kept repeating them. He sat up straighter, fisted the delicate fabric of Shiro’s shirt in his hands and tried to shake him. To make him understand, to see how sorry he was.

But Shiro didn’t budge. Just tried to shush him, gentle hands wrapping around Keith’s wrists to stop him from the frenetic tug and push.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Keith. Baby, this isn’t your fault.” Shiro tried to reassure him, tried to sooth him. But Keith startled again, mustered enough strength to pull himself free with one violent jerk. He was still caught in Shiro’s space, though, and pressed himself into the wall so hard his shoulderblades ached just to create some distance. Shiro watched him with wide eyes, surprise and a flicker of hurt staring back at Keith as he tried to kick at Shiro’s knees to make him go away.

“How can you say that?” Keith cried through his frenzy, trying to regain some strength, some control over his limbs so he could get the hell away from Shiro. Shiro shouldn’t be touching him, anymore. He didn’t deserve to have Shiro close, not in any way after what he’d done. “Of course it’s my fault!”

“Keith,  _ no _ .” Shiro grabbed him by the ankles, trying to stop the useless kicking and calm his boyfriend down. Keith knew that Shiro understood his train of thought, and he didn’t understand why Shiro didn’t agree with him. “There is no way of knowing how this happened.”

“You’ve only been with one other man, Shiro!” Keith’s throat felt like he’d swallowed broken glass. 

“And we got together when I was twenty, baby. Adam had been with others before me.” Keith wanted to hate him for sounding so calm, for not losing his shit like Keith was. “Not to mention he  _ cheated _ on me. There’s a good chance I was a carrier long before you and I even met.”

Keith slumped against the wall, Shiro’s thumbs rubbing circles into his calves through his jeans and patiently waiting for Keith to calm. But Keith kept sobbing, shoulder quaking and every piece of him in pain. He didn’t want to look at Shiro, at the same time as he wanted to bury himself in his boyfriend's arms and be rocked to sleep in the safest place he knew.

“But it could have been me.” He whispered after a few more minutes of breaking into pieces in his own bathroom. “What if I’m the one, what if I’ve killed you?”

Shiro shifted in front of him, but Keith couldn’t find it in himself to look up. Instead he held his breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t know what to do, couldn’t even form any real thoughts through the haze. So when Shiro only leaned in closer, and pressed their foreheads together, Keith exhaled slowly, and pressed back.

\---

  
  


By the time Coran passed away, summer was on its way again. This time, even less was like it had been, when Keith first arrived. Sal’s was closed for business, but the venue was still open for more solemn gatherings. Support groups. End of life mindfulness meetings.  _ Wakes _ .

They’d been to more funerals in the past year than anyone should need to attend in a lifetime. And there came a point when Keith just became numb to it all, had heard all the songs even if they weren’t the same. Had heard every speech even if it was a different family. Had carried every coffin even if every single one was unique.

But Coran, the exuberant maniac, surprised them all even after he was gone.

Instead of finding themselves at a church, or any other typical place for a funeral to take place, the very vague invitation brough Shiro and Keith to an old theatre. Keith held his boyfriends hand as they made it up the stairs and down a dimly lit hall to find their seats, and Keith found himself filled with an odd kind of anticipation that simply must lie in the walls of such buildings. He looked over at Shiro, who gave him a small, tired smile, before they went in.

They were among the first ones to arrive, and watched the venue slowly fill with whispering figures, all as confused and curious as them. Keith waved to Lance and Hunk when they came in, catching their attention to bring them over. They were filing into their row, when Shiro began to cough. Keith didn’t miss the way their friends hesitated, a knee jerk reaction before shaking it off. Keith turned to Shiro, and dug a water bottle out of his bag. Shiro took it with a small nod of thanks. 

Hunk sat down next to Keith, looking around the theater.

“Did you guys know what’s going on here?” He glanced at Keith and Shiro, and Keith gave a lazy shrug.

“Just as much as you, I guess.”

“Is anyone  _ really _ surprised though?” Lance cut in, wearing an expression that was both fond and impressed. “Of course The Coranic would go out with a bang.”

And really, there was no arguing with that.

People kept filling the place, and when the clock struck one thirty, the lights went out. The murmur faded into quiet, and for a moment or two, the suspense built in the dark. Then, blasting from the speakers, the intro to a song Keith knew far too well began to play, and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

The curtains rolled up in front of them, with one single spotlight shining down on a sparkling, gorgeous drag queen. She wore a dress that Keith recognized from Coran’s closet, a red sequin ball gown, and matching stilettos. Her wig was a bright magenta, falling in perfect curls down her back. Behind her the band remained in shadow. The electric organ intro reached its peak, and the drag queen raised a sparkling microphone to her lips.

_ Welcome to the grand illusion, _

Keith couldn’t believe what was happening.

_ Come on in and see what’s happenin’, _

If the man wasn’t dead he’d kill him himself.

_ Pay the price, get your tickets for the show, _

The stage lit up in full, revealing a ten piece band, backup singers,  _ dancers _ , and a crazy number of the most extravagant props to ever be pressed onto such a relatively small stage at once.

A helpless laugh escaped him, and he brought his hand up to drag it down his face. At his sides, Shiro and their friends were grinning or laughing all the like. 

Hunk slapped his back with a hearty chuckle. “I can’t believe he got you, man.”

“Neither can I.” Keith agreed, and waved a fist at the stage in mock rage.

It was a story from the night they’d celebrated his birthday, that first year, when he met Shiro. Coran has been mortified to find he’d gone and made friends with someone who would literally pull the plug on the karaoke machine whenever he tried to sing a Styx song. It became a thing between them, Coran swearing to make him suffer through enough Styx to brainwash his young impressionable mind, and Keith declaring such a thing would never happen.

Coran got his way, in the end.

The whole funeral turned out to be a big singalong party, with Coran’s photo up in lights, just like he always wanted. At the queen’s instruction, everyone reached under their seats to find a little booklet, decked out in glitter and full of Coran’s favorite karaoke songs. Keith stretched to retrieve Shiro’s booklet for him, and handed it over. Shiro took it, began to flip through it, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. Keith leaned into his space, and placed a lingering kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. Then he stayed there, his nose pressed into the apple of Shiro’s cheek. After a while, Shiro turned to him, caught his lips in a kiss that was laced with so many things, it overwhelmed him.

\---

  
  


“We need to talk about my will.”

Keith froze, the swab between his fingers disappearing somewhere under Shiro’s bed. It stuck him like an ice-pick, cold and painful even if it was something he should have expected to hear soon. But he didn’t, he never once thought of that. He shouldn’t have needed to. Because they shouldn’t have been there.

When Keith didn’t answer, Shiro continued.

“I need to get it changed. And I think a lawyer should take a look just to be safe.” Keith watched Shiro’s face as he spoke, how the spot at the edge of his chapped lips began to bleed again, just after Keith had cleaned it off. His protruding cheekbones, the bloodshot eyes. The entire abstract portrait of the most beautiful face in the world, becoming less like itself with every passing day lately. He felt his lip begin to wobble again, like it did most of the time. Shiro shifted in his bed, turned to face Keith more. He ached to crawl into bed with him, like he did at first. But it hurt Shiro too much, the worse things got. Keith didn’t want him to hurt. “My family is going to make a big fuss about the funeral. We’re not married, so I need to make sure my will leaves you everything. Or they will take me away.”

Keith still couldn’t speak, couldn’t wrap his mind around the words coming out of Shiro’s mouth. He couldn’t understand how he could say these things so easily, talk about his own funeral like it was just another project to power through at work. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening, yet, and so he forced himself to nod, and let Shiro drone on about the changes he would need to make in order to ensure Keith ended up with his _ remains _ and  _ assets _ .

He didn’t want to hear any of it, but it was the only thing he could do to listen.

Keith sat with Shiro until he fell asleep, and for a long while more after that. He watched the faint rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyelashes. But eventually, foregoing his own needs any longer became impossible, and he left Shiro’s room to hunt down a candy bar or something, anything to fill his stomach with. But he didn’t get further than out the door, before he stopped.

On the bench outside of Shiro’s room, sat Krolia, waiting. She got to her feet once Keith spotted her, and pulled him in. The hug was more physical warmth than he’d felt in weeks, enveloping him and holding him tight for a long few minutes.

When they came apart, his mother cupped his cheek in her hand, and looked at him for a while.

“I’m so sorry about this, darling.” She said, wiping the tears escaping him with her thumb. “I’ll stay here with you for as long as you need. Would that help?”

Keith didn’t respond, but broke into sobs in his mother’s arms. But after that, she remained in Phoenix with Keith.

And he was beyond thankful. Because two weeks later, he jerked awake where he sat curled up in the armchair next to Shiro’s bed. He wasn’t sure what had woken him, with the room dark and perfectly still. He looked over at Shiro, and he couldn’t stand his need to touch him. Couldn’t resist the urge to leave his chair, and go sit on the edge of the bed. He took Shiro’s hand, pale and so much thinner than it had been, but still big enough for Keith to need both his own to wrap around it. 

He sat there in the dark, holding his love as close as he might at that point, and Keith knew that it was time. He felt it long before the heart monitor made that awful sound, before the nurses came bustling in. There was a moment before all that, a moment just for Keith. For a moment frozen in time, Keith felt Shiro with him, heard the sound of his voice within himself, and basked in the warmth and the joy Shiro brought him.

  
  


\---

  
  


A man sits by a window looking out. The sky is grey and dull, but in the planters below little signs of spring are beginning to bud. Somewhere close by, children play, and a songbird sits on a low hanging branch just outside the window.

“Do you have many memories of him?” The voice that’s been present for his afternoon coffee today asks him from across the little kitchen table. 

The man gives them a small smile, a gentle nod. Then he looks down at his hands, fingers weaved together on the table with today’s crossword underneath.

“More than I could ever tell.” He says, and turns again to his window, listens to the faint sound of pen on paper.

“Didn’t you ever find someone else?” The voice continues curiously, and the middle aged man shakes a strand of dark hair out of his eyes before he turns to look again at the young girl sitting in front of him, with her notepad and recorder blinking on the table between them.

“No.” He says. “No, there was never anyone else for me.”

He sees her try to suppress a frown, and it makes him smile to himself. It’s sweet, he thinks, that the way she cares shines through her professionalism. It makes her that much easier to talk to, even if he figures he’s not giving her much to work with.

“Did you ever try?”

He shakes his head, but remembers the recorder and he really does want to be helpful.

“I never wanted to, really. But I haven’t lived a lonely life.” He ensures, and he can honestly say he means that. “I have good friends, some even from back then. They make my life feel full.”

“Do you think your friendship became stronger, going through what you went through together?”

“I’m sure it did. We were always very close, but I will admit I don’t think I would have been able to be happy again if I didn’t have them, people who know just what it was like, who lit those candles with me through the years and carried coffins, lived off vending machine coffee in a hospital wing.” He meets her gaze, and it’s full of a kind of admiration he’s never expected to see in anyone who looks at him. It’s a strange, but welcome thing. 

“We lean on each other, still. And that love, it’s enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily based on a book series by Swedish novelist Jonas Gardell, called “Don’t ever wipe tears without gloves”. The books themselves are based on his life and experience of the AIDS epidemic in Sweden during the 80’s. It’s also been turned into a TV series, and I strongly recommend that you check it out! It reflects very well what it was like to be a gay man at the time and I think it’s a part of LGBT history we don’t learn enough about. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, or it at least stirred some emotion in you, please consider donating to Elton John AIDS Foundation. You can donate smaller amounts than with many other organisations, and they do great work.
> 
> Practise safe sex, love and take care of yourself and others. Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Find me @/quiznakeries on Twitter~


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